Mistakes We Have Made
by Thalia Castellan
Summary: There would be times later when he would toss and turn in bed all night, wondering why he had been so stupid. When it happened though, he had thought it was a lie. A beautiful, but not very well thought-out lie. One-shot Challenge: Week Eight.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone recognizable from the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series.**

**Grammar and/or Spelling: I know didn't have time to find a Beta reader, but if anyone wants to offer any tips in a review if they've spotted something I consistently do wrong, then I'd really appreciate it.**

**Contest: For WindowChild and ShadowPalace's annual one-shot contest-like always. Go check out their prompts; they're a good way to get motivated!**

**

* * *

**

_Change the colors of the sky_

_ ~Daughtry~_

_

* * *

_

Rain pelted down on him; running rivers down his already sweaty fingers and dripping off the tip of the poisoned knife he held. The humid air blanketed him and pushed against his lungs; making him gasp. He felt weaker then he had ever been: with the elements working to undermine him and whispering in his ear that he was in the wrong.

Her branches spread wider then they had years before. As they stretched, they sucked in the sky's water; letting in run down the rough brown bark and vibrant green needles. The sharp scent of pine was only magnified by the drizzle, and with drops of rain sliding between them, the long green tips stood out from one another with stunning clarity.

Despite the rain, his skin tingled with heat; his fingers shook from the effort of holding the blade, and his whole body trembled with the heavy, overbearing idea of what he was about to do. He knew that it was the right thing, that everything would be fine in the end; but his mind flashed a single question over and over in his mind: would _she _be happy?

After what seemed like and thousand days, he staggered forward. He had a master to serve, and a destiny to fulfill. With one, solid blow, he sunk the dripping knife into the bole trunk of the pine tree.

And then all he could was listen to the tormented whine that rose from the tall form and surged into the night; fading out to quickly to tear through the still camp below and wake anyone.

The young man wondered if he should be sorry: the tree was his best friend. But as he turned and walked away, fading into the swirling black, he found that he wasn't. After all, had he not already cried at the base of the pine tree one to many times?

* * *

"Chiron yelled at me today."

The blond figure standing in front of the tree was easily recognized by the eleven year old. He was standing before a sturdy pine tree; in his arms a sword and a illustrated book of Greek Mythology.

Crouching a few yards away, a daughter of Athena with princess curls stifled a gasp. Chiron was known for being extremely patient, and he almost never lost his temper; and _never _with any of the campers.

"He said I should be _thanking _my father, not complaining about my quest." The teenaged boy laughed harshly, throwing the eloquently decorated book to the ground.

"This is what I _think _of the half a million year old idiot!"

The little girl flinched, and recoiled with surprise and horror as her older friend drove his sword through the bright cover of the large tome. Her heart leapt into her mouth as the older half-blood turned quickly around and narrowed his eyes at her.

"What are you doing out here?" He growled, stalking closer.

Annabeth panicked: the sword in his hand was glistening in the afternoon light, and the scowl that ripped across his scared face was the most contorted she had ever seen. He was scaring her.

"Who..." She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes unwilling to break contact with his. "Who were you talking to?"

Anger because the only emotion visible on the apposing demigod's face, and he acted on impulse. "You heard _nothing_!" He hissed, the words astonishingly clear despite his teeth gashing together.

As he walked away, a loud buzz filled the daughter of Athena's ears, and she toppled to the ground. Even as she rolled on the grass, sobbing and writhing in pain from blow the flat of his sword had given her, she played an endless tape over and over in her head:

_It's not his fault. It's not his fault._

It was a monologue she would never stop repeating.

* * *

It wasn't storming; lighting wasn't falling from the dark sky, and thunder was shaking the silent night with sound. It wasn't even raining. It felt right though, and since he had no control over the weather, a still, quiet night would have to do.

He had meant to stay awake until Annabeth had fallen peacefully asleep beside him; but, despite his best efforts, his eyes had shut long before the seven year old's. Instead, he'd woken with a start several hours later and had to climb over her in order to leave Cabin Six.

Approaching the small pine tree that had appeared on the crest of Half-blood Hill only hours before, Luke wondered what he was looking for. He knew she was gone, that she wasn't coming back. He wasn't happy about it-not by a long shot-but he had excepted it. He had excepted that there was nothing he could do.

_So why, _He asked himself, _am I standing out here in the middle of the night?_

Sitting down with his back on the trunk of the pine, he tried to puzzle out his calm reaction to his best friend's death. Grover had groveled on his knees, apparently terrified that Zeus would strike him dead; and Annabeth had cried until she literally was incapable of doing anything more then shaking uncontrollably.

He had stared at the tree for under two minutes, and then excepted Chiron's offer of hot food and a an even hotter shower. And then he had gone to bed; his eyes still dry.

Sitting on the cold, hard ground, it didn't make sense to him: that having known her the longest, he would feel the least. It shocked and amazed him. And yet, he couldn't find it within himself to cry. Not even just a few, small tears.

Luke really had no idea how long he sat there, under the pine tree. He wasn't even positive that he was actually awake when the familiar figure of a slender girl detached itself from the pine and sat down next to him.

"You're still not wearing a jacket."

Surveying the willowy girl closely, Luke frowned. She looked nothing like the Thalia he knew: no short hair, ripped clothing, punk earrings, dark make-up. No, the girl beside him was almost Thalia's opposite: long, loose, wavy hair, an almost translucent green dress, and freckles that he could really _see _for a change.

And yet, she knew about their jacket argument.

"I'm not cold," He said finally, his icy blue eyes still studying the look-alike's face.

"Not wearing a jacket and pretending you're not cold doesn't make you a man." The teasing ring that was often in Thalia's voice was there, but Luke still couldn't believe that if given a choice, the daughter of Zeus would ever wear an ankle length dress.

"Who are you?" He asked, his throat suddenly dry.

The girl faked hurt. "You've really forgotten me after ten hours?" She asked, stretching her long legs out in front of her and tapping his left foot with her right one.

Luke's frown deepened. "You're dead," He said finally, swallowing hard. "And you're wearing a dress."

The girl looked down at herself and bulked in shocked. "Hey!" She turned accusingly to him, looking annoyed. "You can't just change my clothes whenever you want!"

"You're a tree," Luke stated dryly. "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

They sat in silence for awhile; the nymph girl exclaiming-mostly in curse words-over her long hair and unpainted fingernails, while Luke stared at the ground and wished that the fake Thalia would go away and leave him alone.

"I know how you can get me back," The duplicate said suddenly, looking up from her smooth palms. "The real me; the one we both prefer."

"How's that?" He asked, wondering as he did why he even bothered. It wasn't like she actually knew.

"The Golden Fleece; if you get it, then I'll come back."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?" He asked, his tone mocking.

"I'm a _tree_!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up over her head. "I'm practically dead: so I know everything."

There was another silence as Luke pondered over what 'Thalia' had said. He wanted to believe her, he really did, but he didn't. Just like he really wanted to cry, but couldn't.

"Where would I even _get _the Golden Fleece?" He wasn't planning on going after it, he was just curious.

"You'd have to get the coordinates from the Grey Sisters." The girl sounded so confident, that for a moment, Luke believed she might really be Thalia. But then he glimpsed her long hair, again, and the notion slipped away.

Seeing the doubt in his face, the girl knelt in front of him, her eyes wide. "Please, Luke," She whispered, her voice urgent. "I _really _don't want to be a tree forever."

"I'm sorry," Luke withdrew his hands from her grasp and looked away from the pleading eyes that matched Thalia's so well-only, pleading would _never _have been seen in hers- "I don't know you."

He didn't look back as he clambered back down the hill, so he never saw the salty tears that cut paths into Thalia's pale skin.

* * *

He didn't believe he was a demigod until he saw his first monster. He didn't believe he was a son of Hermes until he transported himself across a room completely by accident. He didn't believe girls could ever be useful until he met one who could pin him down in five seconds flat. He didn't believe that running away was the ever the answer until he saw Thalia standing on his door step asking him to go to the hospital with her because her mother had broken her nose. He didn't believe little children were anything but annoying until he met Annabeth. And he didn't believe backing out of a fight was ever a good thing until Thalia told him to.

If only he could have believed in something for once; if he had, then history could have been changed.


End file.
